


Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats

by brownest_goldfish_intheair



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Paris Pride, Thoschei, best enemies, post Spyfall, post the timeless children in a way i guess?, rainbow eyelashes, soft touches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownest_goldfish_intheair/pseuds/brownest_goldfish_intheair
Summary: It's been 60 years since the Doctor has left the Master in Paris, stranded without a TARDIS. He's got to pass his time somehow, right? So he starts taking part in human activities.One late afternoon, he is walking home from Pride. And you know what they say: You always run into your ex when you're looking your worst.Based on this wonderful text post:https://mastershearts.tumblr.com/post/615505323134992384/okay-but-about-60-years-into-the-masters-exileThanks for the inspiration!
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 94





	Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats

The sun was slowly setting over Paris, replacing the burning summer heat with lazy, comfortable warmth, as the Master made his way down the main street. An air of calm had settled over the city centre, following the roaring noise of the Pride parade, and most people had moved from the main areas into the small parks littered all around them to sit on the grass, talking and kissing over bottles of cheap spirits. He’d joined them there once, three years ago, and it had ended in him going home with a man who’d looked just a bit too much like the Doctor in their tenth incarnation.  
He’d never left a bed as quickly as he had the next morning.  
And he had definitely _not_ sat on the floor of his apartment with a pounding headache for hours that day, holding back tears of desperation and shame and longing. And he had also definitely _not_ moved from the floor to the shower when it got dark outside, where he could tell himself it was just water running down his cheeks.

But he was not going to make that mistake ever again, so he tried to stay away; keep his distance as much as he could.  
It was almost ironic, how now, after she’d apparently stopped caring about him completely, he could understand the Doctor better than ever before: Living among humans for all those years had made it impossible to avoid them and sooner than he would have ever thought, he’d been pulled into all their silly little rituals and learned about all their annoyingly narrow mindsets.  
But that was exactly the problem: They were not _all_ like that. No, some of them were funny and clever (well, for humans anyway) and way ahead of their time. He hadn’t even noticed himself getting fond of them – not until they’d started ageing and dying while he didn’t.

There was no right way to do it, really: Either he would constantly feel alone or he would enjoy their company for a while, only to feel more alone later. And they couldn’t help but remind him over and over that he would never really belong with them; that the only person who understood him wasn’t part of his life anymore.  
He wondered if she’d known he would end up feeling like this, when she’d left him standing on the Eiffel Tower with his perception filter turned off; betrayed him in the very moment he’d chosen to give her his last bit of trust.  
But he tried not to think about it; not to think about _her_ while he blinked against the rich yellow sky, not sure if it hurt more or less now that he was sobering up.

His eyes were stinging from the rainbow-coloured eyelashes he’d clued onto his eyelids that morning – they were so long, he could feel them brush against his eyebrows. Everyone had loved them, of course; easy-to-impress humans, always got excited about the smallest things. He really had tried to look down on them for that, but there was something so pure and innocent about it; about a culture that was not built on lies and arrogance, but on open, childlike wonder and a seemingly endless supply of naïve hope, that made it impossible not to give into it at least a little bit.

Oh, and it had been nice to give into it. To dance among the masses of people who were all glitter and excited laughter and moved like the whole world belonged to them. And really, the world _should_ belong to them. Not to all those old white men who, even after two World Wars that had cost millions of lives – he would never forget the children’s eyes; it was different when they looked at you with trust instead of fear – still thought it mattered who you kissed and what you wore.

But now there was nothing to keep his mind busy – nothing to distract him from the fact that chaos, ultimately, turned into nothing whenever the noise died down.  
He did his best to walk in a straight line, getting lost in the confetti littering the ground as he rounded the corner into the alleyway he’d walked through so many times to make his way back to the flat with the pretty view and the grey cat that hissed at him every time he came too close to her – which was the reason he’d adopted her, of course.

He didn’t notice the blue box that stood there, at first, not until he heard the all too familiar noise of its door creaking open.  
_Will she_ ever _oil that bloody door?_ Was the first thought that ran through his mind, before he even looked up and it almost made him smile. But the sentiment died down as soon as he _did_ look up:

There she was, the Doctor, standing right in front of him, her gleeful smile turning to utter shock when their eyes met.  
He was used to that expression, had seen it more often than anyone else. But usually, he was prepared for it. Usually, he’d only waited for her to look at him like that so he could torture her with whatever words he had prepared.  
Now, he felt like he’d never learned a single word in his life as his mouth went dry. He’d thought about it so often; the things he would do to her to make her regret what she’d done; the most painful ways to tell her what he knew about their past – _her_ past, he remembered; they didn’t share one, not anymore. But it was all gone now, lost in the galaxies that were her eyes and in the way his hearts were hammering in his chest so rapidly he thought he might pass out from it.

“What are _you_ doing here?” She spat, her face all rage, but he could see her hands trembling at her sides; she might be able to hide her insecurity behind the force of her words with everyone else, but he knew what he had to look for – had known since they’d gotten into all those stupid arguments over who was better at algebra, at least once a week.

He tried to straighten his posture to look a bit less pathetic, standing in front of her with his make-up smudged and his hair all sweaty. His lungs rebelled when he tried to breathe in deep – she used to be the one who’d made that feeling go away.

“Do you not know?” He asked, careful not to stumble over his words. “Have you _forgotten_ about trapping me here?” He’d wanted it to sound aggressive; accusing. But it came out in a wave of hurt and disappointment – as if he was _begging_ her to say no. And this time it wasn’t the eyelashes that made his eyes sting and he swore right in that moment to never drink a single drop of alcohol again, just so he wouldn’t end up feeling so disgustingly vulnerable in front of her.  
She looked taken aback for a moment, then her features softened.

“Oh.” She whispered, regarding him from head to toe. He couldn’t help but flinch at the word. _Yes, that was what you called me. Back when you liked me, for once.  
_“You’re not… You’re still…” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, biting her lower lip as she looked up at him with a mix of relief and worry in her eyes.

His brain took a second to catch up, still all fuzzy and heavy, and then it dawned on him, too: She was about a hundred years older, now; what was still following him around like a ghost everywhere he went, was nothing but a distant memory to her – long buried in her past.

“But that doesn’t explain…” She rose her eyebrows as she took a step toward him. She’d recovered from the realisation so fast, it felt like a punch in the stomach. “What you’re wearing.”  
He looked at her in confusion for a moment, still caught up in his thoughts. And then he remembered just _what_ he was wearing and the echoing pain was replaced by instant embarrassment.

He was covered in rainbows, from the colours on his face, through the scarf around his neck, down to the little flag a very excited young girl, dressed in all purple, had handed to him and he was now carrying in his pocket. And the Doctor, well, she was also covered in them, not as much as him, but very noticeably. And the fact that they both remembered that certain scarf she'd used to wear, that had made him cringe every time he’d looked at him, really didn’t help the picture.

“I mean I knew you were a little obsessed with me, but this…” She mused.

How dare she? He wanted to strangle her; not for fun, this time. To show her just how much he _didn’t_ care about her – not in the slightest.

“You think _everything’s_ about you, don’t you?” He hissed, earning nothing but a raised eyebrow in return, which made him even more furious. “You self-important, vain – “ He was cut off by someone whistling loudly at them from the main street.

“Hey Mistress!” A girl called from the back of a bike, her arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s waist and a wide grin on her face. “Does your husband know about this?” Before he could react at all, they had passed the alley and were riding off into the distance.

_Oh, no._ Could he steal the TARDIS, run away to the other end of the universe and never, _ever_ , look at the Doctor again, please? He was seriously considering it for a moment.

“Your _husband_ , huh?” She said, voice filling with amusement. He was still trying to avoid her gaze. “Wow, I must have actually been wrong then. Not everything’s about me, after all. You got _married_ on earth. Do you have a house and a dog and oh, a small garden with – “

“It’s you.” He interrupted her, locking his eyes with hers in surrender. “When I told them about you, I said that you were… my husband.” It was like the words were falling out of his mouth, finally setting him free from the weight of having to pretend. But as soon as he’d said them, he regretted every single one of them.

“You…” She stared at him in wide-eyed, suppressing a giggle at first and then covering her mouth with her hand to laugh quietly as her eyes lit up with joy. “Why would you…”  
She was not actually going to ask him that, was she? He shook his head at her, his eyes filling with tears so quickly he could barely fight them. He turned away from her to pull off his eyelashes individually, before the glue on them would get all soft, and tried to dry the inner corners of his eyes with his fingers, careful not to ruin his eyeshadow any more than he already had.

“Hey, no.” She said, her voice suddenly the softest it had been in centuries, making his throat ache even more. “I’m not mocking you. It’s just…” She lightly put a hand and his upper arm, letting it fully come to rest when he didn’t pull away. “I would have never thought that after what happened, you would still be calling me your husband.”

Oh, why did she have to say that? It made all his anger immediately fade out of his body, leaving him completely disarmed and open to all the feelings he had buried deep within his memories. They were rushing out all at once now, freely bleeding into every crack she’d left in his hearts, and he had to swallow hard to cling onto what was left of his composure.

“But why did they not think it was me when they saw us?” The Doctor suddenly asked. He looked up at her in disbelief, regarding the clueless look on her face. He wasn’t sure if what he did next was laughing or crying – probably a bit of both.  
“What?” She asked, letting go of his arm to gesture with her hands; he immediately missed her touch.  
“Doctor.” He said, forcing himself to calm down. “ _Doctor_.” Her face remained frozen in confusion as he shook his head and raised his eyebrows, fixing his gaze directly on her breasts. Did she have any conception for her own body at all?  
“What is…” Then she finally followed his gaze down to her chest and her eyes slowly lit up in understanding. “Oh, right.” She said. “They make a distinction there, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do.” He said with a small grin. “Strange, isn’t it?”

“Ridiculous!” She replied with a smirk. “I will never get it.” And when their eyes met again, it was like something long gone had clicked into place; they were _them_ , different from everyone around them. They shared something no one else would ever be part of.

“Come home with me.” He whispered, the need to have her close quickly winning over the fear of being rejected. She nodded immediately, taking his hand to let him lead her.

“Oh, a cat!” The Doctor exclaimed excitedly as soon as they’d walked through the door and ran right up to the grey ball sitting on the back rest of the sofa, leaving the Master standing there as if he didn’t exist. Typical.  
“Be careful, she – “  
“Oi, she bit me!” The Doctor said in an offended tone.  
“Yeah, don’t take it personally, she does that.” He said, expecting the Doctor to get far away from her now, but she remained right where she was.  
“What’s her name?” She asked, looking back at him.

“Nardole.” He replied, without even thinking about it. She turned around with an amused grin.  
“Because you think Nardole was your pet or because you miss him?” He had no idea how to answer that – the cat just remineded him of Nardole. He shrugged his shoulders.  
“I just always liked the name.” He said drily.  
“Of course.” She shook her head and turned back to Nardole.

“Hey, Nardole. Look, you can’t just bite people.” She cooed. Did she know she was talking to a cat? “I don’t want to hurt you. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you too.” Of course, as if that would work. The Master was already prepared to roll his eyes, when, all of a sudden, the Doctor started stroking Nardole’s head and she actually _purred_.

“How did you _do_ that?” He asked, completely bewildered. She looked back at him with a warm smile and then stopped stroking Nardole to approach him where he was leaning against his kitchen counter.  
“Most creatures who lash out are just scared.” She said quietly, running the back of her hand along the side of his face. “And everyone needs love.” He thought his legs might give in from the way that made him feel. He hadn’t realised until that moment how much he’d _craved_ this kind of affection – more than he could have ever craved any sort of sexual pleasure.

He was powerless when she guided him to the bathroom, stripped him off his clothes and gently pushed him into the shower, following right after him.  
“You’ve got glitter in your hair.” She grinned, moving both her hands through it under the water.  
“Do you not like glitter?” He asked.  
“I’m more fond of the rainbows.” She smiled, dropping a quick kiss on the one in his cheek before hungrily interlocking their lips while softly pushing him against the wall.

He ran his hands from the small of her back up to her shoulder-blades, mapping out every inch of her new body, while her fingers slowly moved from the back of his neck, over his chest, down in between his legs.  
“Doctor.” He said breathlessly, breaking their kiss despite how good it felt. “Could we… Could we just…”  
“Keep kissing?” She asked warmly, her eyes filling with compassion and understanding. He nodded, closing his eyes and trying not to think about all the ways she could use this against him, in another life.  
“Of course.” She moved her hands back up to the back of his neck, softly caressing his skin. “Come here.” He let himself sink against her, ease spreading into every corner of his mind.

It was almost completely dark outside; the city lights were shyly gleaming in through the wide window the Doctor was facing. She was sitting cross-legged on the Master’s sofa, his head peacefully resting in her lap as she gently ran her fingers through his hair with one hand while stroking Nardole, who was sleeping on the armrest, with the other.  
“Master, are you awake?” She whispered into the silence, only broken by the humming of the cars driving down the streets below them.  
“Mistress?” She tried again, the corners of her lips moving up into a fond smile. She’d always liked saying his names – all of them – and he knew it, even though they both pretended it wasn’t true.

When she got no reply, she tiredly let her head fall back against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes.  
“You did hurt me.” She whispered, so quietly she wasn’t quite sure she’d even said it out loud. “But I didn’t mind. I just wish it hadn’t hurt you so much.”  
She should have told him that a hundred years, or an hour ago.  
But maybe it wasn’t meant to be; maybe, between them, the right words were always supposed to be lost in tenderness of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I hope you enjoyed it and have a lovely weekend xx


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